Feel better about your lack of Valentines and/or worse about humanity after reading this story from Allison, an exotic dancer who told us about a creepy customer who thought that because it was Valentine's Day — well, really, because Allison's a stripper — he had the right to repeatedly disrupt her workday. You see, he felt they had a psychic connection after watching her do her thing, which was like "seeing fireworks up close with all the pageantry and majesty and hot sexy spread eagleness of it all." In other words, dude was turned on by a sexy lady who clearly is just dying to hear exactly how she makes the men who watch her dance feel instead of taking their money.

Backstory: I'm an exotic dancer and one day I had a new customer come in right before closing and tell me he NEEDED to talk to me, it was incredibly important. When I finally got a chance to sit down with him, basically said he was psychic and had a "psychic shockwave" that woke him from his sleep and told him to come into my work and talk to me specifically because I had something to tell him (I didn't). He told me my aura was violet, and that a spirit floating over him was asking if I had anyone in my family with an 'L' name. He told me when he turned the corner at my club he KNEW I'd be standing there. That kind of TV psychic-type bullshit. At a certain point he asked me if I could meet him sometime for coffee to talk more about this spiritual connection we had (I'm guessing asking me out was his ulterior motive behind all the fake metaphysics) and I turned him down and finished my shift.

A week or so later he came back to the club while I was at work and told me he still really needed to talk more about this whole situation. He followed me around the club like a lost puppy, not spending any money but successfully annoying the ever-loving fuck out of me. Finally I told him I was at the club to work and make money, not talk to him and he needed to lay off. I wasn't super rude about it but definitely firm.

Fast forward a few days and it was Valentines Day. I picked up the shift hoping some lonely guys would come in for company. An hour into my shift and the fake psychic walks in. He hands me a red envelope with my stage name scrawled on it. He told me, "I don't have much time, but this is for you. I'll be back later today but I want you to read this for now."

Inside was a basic Valentines Day card that he signed "Your Friend, M__", and folded inside the card was a full page, single-spaced love poem/stalker manifesto that he'd clearly written for me. He'd also drenched the letter and card in cheap cologne, so it STANK and I had to wash my hands whenever I handled it. The poem was an absolute mess of psychotic, obsessive rambling. I've attached two photos so you can read most of the letter. Keep in mind that I met this dude TWICE and the second time was me basically telling him to leave me alone. I'm still figuring out what to say when I inevitably see him again.

This is one of the creepiest poems I've ever read (click on the photo to zoom in and see/gag for yourself, if you dare), which is really saying something, because I minored in Creative Writing. Also, he needs to close-read himself:

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"I don't even know this lady/and she looks like she'd prefer to kick me square in the taint maybe."

So leave her the fuck alone!

"As an artist I am obligated to respond to [the connection we had]," he argues. No: as a human being you're obligated to respect someone who tells you she's on the clock and doesn't want to hear your stalkery new age bullshit.